Bruce Springsteen said it right when he told the judge, “Fifty-seven channels and nuthin's on.”
Television shows today often do suck, especially daytime network fare, but no matter how terrible they seem to be, they'll never come close to what was probably the worst daytime show in TV history: Queen For A Day.
Described as television's answer to Ed Wood's crowning film achievement, Plan Nine From Outer Space, QFD, originally a high-ratings radio show, was a bizarre but very popular alternative to the two o'clock (Eastern) TV soap operas of the 'fifties.
Filmed at the Moulin Rouge in downtown Hollywood, against a backdrop of velvet curtains and a gilded throne, three woman contestants were introduced to the audience by slimy-looking emcee Jack Bailey. Each then told her sad, sad story to Bailey's handheld microphone, urged along by him with nonsensical comments and often cruel quips. (He sounded like a cross between a big city social services worker with an attitude and a carnival barker - which he once was.) All of the shows were heavily sprinkled (at $4,000 a minute) with on-stage advertisements for every product imaginable, from laxatives to vacuum cleaners. Episodes even had a fashion segment, hosted by none other than Jimmy Cagney's sister, Jeanne, who evidently couldn't find steady work elsewhere.
After each of the contestants had her few minutes of describing the details of an unusually pathetic or unlucky life, and telling Jack what prize would make life more tolerable for them (never did any of them choose a few good sessions of psychotherapy), it came time to award the crown and robe and to put that day's queen on her throne. The audience did the choosing with sympathy applause, its volume registered on the Applause-o-Meter, a device used on several other TV game shows. The sadder the story, the louder the applause. The louder the applause, the farther up the scale the needle moved on the meter. High scorer won.
When the applause died, the orchestra's music came up and Jack announced the name of that episode's winner. Losers were hustled off-stage. She was crowned and cloaked, a dozen roses pushed into her arms and then led up the steps to her throne. There, with the applause light blinking brightly, she was showered with a wide array of possibly useful gifts (almost always including a washing machine), each described in detail by Jack, and presented by one of six or seven oddly clad models (think velveteen, rabbit fur and spike heels.) The show closed with a fade to black from a close-up of the teary-eyed and confused-looking queen, with Bailey saying, "Make every woman a queen, for every single day!"
Only seven episodes of this unique show are known to exist. You can view one of them from 1960 HERE.
3 comments:
I dimly remember this show from the late 1950s. It was weird to hear all the misery these women experienced in their lives.
Thanks for posting this. It's a classic. Not a good classic, but a classic anyway.
"My mother was Queen For The Day back in 1957 - I think. The reason I don't know the exact date as I was around two years old. Her name was Marietta McNeal. She was a registered nurse in Toledo, Ohio and was stricken down with polio in 1957. She was sent to Ann Arbor, Michigan and placed in an 'iron lung.' It was there that someone wrote into the show and told her story. Jack Baily and Ms. Cagney crowned her in the hospital. I have an old photo of the two, but it does not show the actual crowning. She requested an "iron lung" so she could come back home to Toledo, but I think she only received a washing machine. All of us (4 children) were taken away, by the State, and placed in an orphanage soon after. We eventually got back home only to have her die shortly thereafter. If there ever was someone deserving to be 'Queen For The Day,' it was this brave and lovely lady." Cheryl
If someone wants to make me feel like Queen For a Day, trust me, a washing machine ain't gonna do it!
"Here's your new washing machine. Now, get to work, Your Majesty."
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